


Random Snapshot One-Shots

by TheSmuttyBard



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Pitch Perfect (Movies), Supergirl (TV 2015), The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, I have questionable humor, all chapters random, character development is so hot, different fandom every chapter, let me know if you like the Supergirl premise, might be canon might be random, no chapters are consecutive, none of this is all that smutty yet but I promise I'll get there, spoilers from series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmuttyBard/pseuds/TheSmuttyBard
Summary: These are random one-shots from whatever fandom is calling to me at the moment. There's currently no plan for consecutive chapters or through-line stories. This thread will just be whatever is flowing at the moment, and then I'll move on. I'm here to have fun. Feel free to have fun with me...even if the characters aren't. We can't help it if they don't have their acts together.Also, thoughts on things you like are welcome and may influence future offerings.Ch 1 - Trish/Jessica (Canon-spoilers)Ch 2 - Kara/Lena (AU-no spoilers)Ch 3 - Pairings & Prompt requestsCh 4 - Beca/Chloe (Canon-spoilers)Ch 5 - Raven/Anya (AU)





	1. Stalker Level: Hellcat (Trish/Jessica)

**Trish Walker/Jessica Jones**

 

Full disclaimer: I’m a total stalker.

  
I won’t deny it, and I definitely can’t hide it. Nor can I say that being a stalker would make it to the Top 10 list of negative qualities about me. Unrepentant killer tops that list.

  
I’ve killed another person, and I would do it again.

  
So there’s that.

  
But I’m also a stalker. It’s one of the qualities that made me—no, _makes_ me—such a great addict. Although to be more honest than I like to be, I was addicted to Jessica before I ever touched a drug. I was even addicted to her before I became a teenager who got introduced to sex in all the wrong ways. Which is a whole different story. The point is, drugs became both the addiction and the escape I wanted with her after I started having sex, and while I was high I conjured up idealized narcissistic dreams for Jess and tried to force her to become what I wanted her to be.

  
Everything just went to shit from there, and it’s never recovered.

  
I don’t even know if recovery is possible.

  
But I’m fixated on it—every moment feeling like being six inches from the surface of the ocean and a life-saving breath. I need Jess back in my life like I need my next hit. Even if it’s just as friends.

Although I don’t want to be just friends.

We’ve tried that, and I just don’t know how to not fuck it up. I’m too jealous—the shitty, unforgivable kind of jealous that is crazy toxic while smiling and pretending to be your friend while I'm really fucking shit up on your blindside. That’s me trying to be friends when I’m in love.

I can’t help it.

  
As soon as Jess starts developing a relationship with some guy, I fuck him first. If I can. It doesn’t always work out that way because Jess’s relationship with sex is almost as fucked up as mine. The girl works fast when she wants something, whereas I turn fixated and controlling while eliminating the competition.

Because, while we’ve never said it outright, Jessica and I won’t ride the same dicks. No guy gets both of us, and that has been a source of sanity to me for a long time. If I fuck her neighbor down the hall and she finds out, that means I never have to worry about her ending up in that bed. The potential for a relationship with that shithead is gone. And while part of me feels relief at that fact, another part of me resents the hell out of her for not calling me out and forcing a conversation that would let me put everything on the table.

God, I want to put everything on the table.

It’s like a subdermal itch that never leaves. I want to tell her every fucking thing in my fucked-up, obsessive head.

Instead, when I’m not “dating” someone, I end up fucking a new dick each week to prove to myself that people want me. I’m a catch. I can have any man I want.

And that’s the problem.

Men have always come easy for me.

Easy come, easy go.

Or, maybe more appropriately, easy cum, easy go.

Assholes, mostly. The types of people who don’t survive the scrutiny of daylight, leaving me to quickly walk the other way on second meetings.

Am I proud of my triple-digit sexual partner history? Not really.

Did I spend most of those sexual encounters wishing someone cared enough to save me from me? Yes.

Did I let myself be saved?

No.

Not once.

To be fair, Jessica tried. Through it all, there was only one person on the planet who loved me—truly, selflessly loved me—and she tried to catch me. I was just too busy showing her how cool I could be…how in demand I was…how many options I had.  
How lucky she would be to catch me while not letting myself be caught.

I was so busy proving to both her and myself that I had everything under control that I didn’t notice she’d hit her own freefall and had smacked into rock bottom until the girl I knew—the girl I’d been trying to convince would be lucky to have me—was gone.

Just…gone.

I didn’t know that could happen.

I was the addict, not her.

I let my shame be my compass, not her.

I let men fuck me while I focused on a wall and tried to reach an orgasm that felt more compelling than a kiss on the hand. Not her.

I was the fuck up—not her—while she was everything I wanted to be.

She was a super. And when I pushed her to be the hero I saw in her, I lost her. Why? Because embracing her power meant she found her nemesis…a nemesis who had the power to put his twisted mind into her body and make it do whatever he wished, giving him a permanent hard on that he used to fuck her every which way.

She eventually killed him—with my help. Help I was proud to offer even as it pushed her as far away from me as she’d ever been.

Bless her asshole heart, but she couldn’t forgive herself for needing my help because she couldn’t stand to see me in danger.

She judged herself for needing to save me, not realizing that whether I’m sucking off some strange in a bathroom somewhere or offering to dress up in her clothes to distract her archenemy, I only feel alive when I’m staring down the barrel of risk.

I want to be the hero.

I want to save her. I always have, but how do you save someone who can bench press you or jump onto the roof of your house in a single bound? How do you save the girl who can pick up a car and beat up ten men without breaking a sweat?  
How do you save a girl who drinks alcohol like a fish breathes water and blames herself for everything little thing that goes wrong?

I’m really asking. If you know the answer, it could change my life. At this point, I either need things to change or for a door to permanently shut.

Oh, who am I kidding? I won’t consider any door permanently shut until one of us is dead. I’m a freak like that. A fixated freak. Because any rational person would say I closed all doors between us having a future together the day I shot her mom in the head.

Yeah. I did that. I’d do it again.

So, yeah. It’s that fucked up between us…I shot Jessica’s unrepentant killer of a mother while Jess was sitting close enough to get the blood splatter of the exit wound splashed across her face and clothes. And now, at this very moment, I am following that up by watching her have sex with her hot boyfriend from the balcony on building across the street … Jessica’s legs spread wide while his hips piston into her with a beat you could set a metronome to.

Boring.

Jessica’s almost always on the bottom. I’ve never seen her fight for the top with Oscar.

Yes. She’s fucking a guy named Oscar. On the regular.

Maybe Oscar needs the top to feel like a man. Maybe Jess needs the bottom so she doesn’t have to be in control for five minutes of her life. (Literally, five minutes.)

I don’t know. But I want to.

And yes, I’m aware that I’m an utter perv for watching their intimate moment through the window. But they’re the ones leaving the curtains open.

They could close them.

Jessica is a PI. She creeps like I’m doing right now all the time, and takes pictures while she does it. For money. So she’s got nothing on me when it comes to peeping, and she definitely knows enough to shut the damn blinds if she doesn’t want to be seen.  
But she doesn’t.

So I watch like an asshole. Because I have to know if she’s happy. If she is, I’ll leave.

But what I see doesn’t make me leave. I see the way her eyes are locked on the ceiling like she’s trying to get her head to a place where she can get lost in what’s happening. But it’s not working. She’s still thinking. Still worried. She wants to be lost in the moment but feels like she doesn’t belong. Like something’s wrong.

Or, at least, that’s how I feel when I have that look on my face.

I think she loves him…or wants to. She definitely wants to. But the desperation in her eyes isn’t that of someone being driven to orgasm, but of a person asking herself why she can’t get there.

Because he’s not getting her there.

I know that for sure because I’ve been there. A lot.

I know she has, too, and god I want to take us there. I want to crawl into her dreams and kiss her in a place where no baggage exists and feel how she kisses me back. I want to see the look in her eyes when she pulls back to see if what’s happening is real, and (hopefully) decides not to care. I want to feel how she pulls me to her, whether it’s a rough tug or a relieved sigh. And, if she really wants to be on the bottom, fuck yeah I can make that happen. Only I won’t let her off by jumping straight to the fucking.

Oh, no.

Definitely no.

I’m going to need to hear her beg for it. Then I’ll know she’s not in her head. Then I’ll know she’s not staring at the ceiling trying to force herself to feel something that has to be conjured.

I’ll show her how useless her strength can be with me, and how safe being out of control can be when the person on the other side would die for you. In a heartbeat. No questions asked.

Oscar wouldn’t die for her. Not by choice. He would live for his son. And he would die for his son.

But not for her.

I’m the only one who will do that for her.

And she’s the only one who would do that for me.

That’s how it’s always been with us.

It’s how it’s always been.

Us…

Whoomp, there it is. Jess just came—not hard enough to make a noise or even pull a face, but enough to look relieved that she’d felt anything at all before sucking his earlobe into her mouth and urging him to finish. Three pumps later, he’s arching back, gritting his teeth as he spasms, losing his rhythm as he goes over the edge with several jerky slaps.

Jessica’s eyes stay on him, clearly glad he’s feeling good, but definitely not sharing the euphoria…her expression almost back to her usual non-expression as she whispers things I didn’t want to her into his ear as he collapses on top of her, pressing his lips to her neck and snuggling in.

Jessica’s eyes close, seeming to find the weight of him on top of her more pleasurable than the actual orgasm as she runs her fingers along his back.

For a moment, she looks at peace. Content.

The fixated part of me needs to know what—exactly—about this moment she likes so much.

Does she like feeling filled up? They didn’t use a condom—which is a thought that is definitely going to loop in my head.

Does she like feeling him go soft inside her?

Was it the sated weight on top of her, giving her assurance that she’d just made someone else feel really, really good that soothed her mind and let her relax into the moment?

Or was it something else entirely?

Whatever the case, the moment faded quickly, her eyes changing back to looking like they were trying figure out the square root of 40 before Oscar pushed up to offer her a post-coital kiss.

Damn Latin men and their culture of good kissing. When Oscar kissed her, it looked like he meant it. He definitely liked her.

Love?

I didn’t see any evidence of that yet. Oscar loved his boy and put him first.

Dad, first; lover, second.

Jessica deserved better than that. She deserved someone who thought about her first when making each new decision…someone who would tell the world to fuck itself if she needed someone to have her back.

Jess deserved someone who could look her right in her fucked soul and say they wanted every piece of it.

Maybe it’s selfish to believe I’m that person. But I have to be selfish. I don’t know how to be anything else. I’m a rich girl who’s used to getting everything I want and nothing that I need.

And I need Jess. Really need her. Not in the “my life will be sad if I don’t get her” way, but in the “I will definitely be dead before 35 without her” kind of way.

For as long as I can remember, only one person has cared about the person underneath the girl who had it all. Only one. And that girl just fucked a dude named Oscar without a condom on the shitty side of town because that’s where she’s lived since the day I made her the scapegoat to all my shitty decisions while she was trying for a college degree.

A degree she never got because she was honest with me for two seconds, and I punished her for it.

I just wanted to show her that I was super too, but ended up selling out instead.

The worst part? The exchange rate on souls suck. Selling mine hadn’t even paid that well.

But that was in the past. I couldn’t fix that now any more than I could stop Oscar from spooning in behind Jessica and cuddling in like the two of them were a unit while she let him.

That pissed me off more than anything…how much Jessica wanted to love him. How much she wanted this to be real.

It wasn’t, but she wanted it. That stung. And the anger that simmered into boiling with that sting meant it was time for me to take off and go beat the shit out of someone who deserved it. That was how I coped these days. And if some dude got a hit in, I blamed the mark on Jessica.

Because she should be out here with me. She should have my back. If she did, no one would hurt me.

She wouldn’t let them.

Instead, she fucked Oscar to mediocre orgasm and tried to pretend she was normal.

But she wasn’t.

And now, neither was I.

And I seriously looked forward to the day when we both had to deal with that.

But, for now, I had to go.


	2. Two Minutes (Lena/Kara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara wants to expand her yoga offerings at L-Corp. Lena would prefer an alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm kind of digging this premise, so I'm add more chapters in another thread. Not sure how to link here, so you can find it under my Works as "Two Minutes".

**Kara/Lena**

 

Everyone seemed to be liking Kara’s little sales pitch, except for the only person Kara needed to like it: the elusive Lena Luthor.

Alex and Maggie cheered Kara on with supportive looks from the side of the spacious office. Beneath Kara, Jimmy lay on his back with his legs pointing up to the ceiling, giving Kara the platform she needed to move into Bow pose atop his feet. Their transition from Camel was flawless, but Lena Luthor seemed less than inspired. She hadn’t looked up from her phone for longer than a glance.

Kara could be fairly obtuse when it came to reading other people, but she was fairly sure that being upstaged by a phone wasn’t a good sign for her business venture.

“As you can see,” Kara said as professionally as she could in an upside-down back arch. “Jimmy is quickly able to find my center, allowing us to fluidly transition from position to position.”

Jimmy was her business partner. They’d been kicking butt together for four years now, and L-Corp was one their health and wellness corporate accounts. Kara and Jimmy taught yoga-as-relaxation classes and gave chair massages at L-Corp on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was a great account for them, which meant they were eager to please. And some people were starting to ask for more variety in the yoga classes.

So Kara was pitching more variety to the big boss herself.

 _Two minutes_ , the woman had said. Kara had two minutes to make her case. But the fact that Lena had yet to look up from her phone had Kara panicking and ad-libbing to get her attention.

“Trust exercises are build right into acro yoga, making it great for team building.”

Not part of the script.

Below her, Jimmy sent her an encouraging smile that doubled as a plea to resist the urge to improvise.

 _Keep it simple,_ his eyes seemed to say. _Show. Don’t tell._

It was good advice. Improvising never worked out well for Kara. Ever. She always said things better the second time around, which meant she needed to stop rambling now before she said something stupid she couldn’t take back.

“For me, it’s like going to the gym and a spa at the same time,” Kara riffed.

She couldn’t stop. Not without a proper gag, it would seem.

“Really?” Lena said, eyes not looking up from her phone. “You find balancing on men’s sweaty feet relaxing?”

“I do,” Kara beamed. “It’s weird but the sweat feels comfortably warm after a while.”

Below her, Jimmy grimaced his teeth and shook his head, mouthing, _Stay. On. Script._

“I see,” Lena said, as genuinely intrigued. “And does the smell also start to feel homey after a while?”

Kara saw Alex try not to laugh, but she did.

Traitor.

“I think AcroYoga is a great selling point for your main studio, Miss Danvers,” Lena said. “But I don’t think I want my corporate professionals balancing on each other’s feet during their lunch breaks.”

Unwilling to succumb to the woman’s first wave of skepticism, Kara jumped into education mode. “The term is flying. And, yes, I love to fly. Jimmy is usually my base. Sometimes we switch spots, but he’s just so big that I can only do basic tricks when I’m basing him.”

Lena typed away, eyes not leaving her phone. “I’m just gonna send that quote right to the HR department to see how they feel your Acro classes are going to go.”

Off to the side of the demonstration, Alex laughed nervously. “I think what she meant to say is—”

“Oh, I know what she meant to say,” Lena said, slipping her phone from her purse and looking up. “But I also heard what she said. And I think we both know we can’t have her looking like that and talking like that at the same time. People are going to get dropped on their heads. It’s not safe.”

Kara sent a panicked looked to Jimmy who seemed to have reconciled to their defeat rather quickly. She could see it in his eyes. This audition was over in his mind.

There would be no AcroYoga classes at L-Corp.

Dang it. Kara had really been looking forward to that.

“Two minutes are up,” Lena said. “Thank you for this borderline surreal demonstration of a possible benefit of working at L-Corp, but it’s going to be a ‘no’ from me.”

Kara felt her Bow pose deflate a bit. She wasn’t one to take no for an answer, but she heard the finality in Lena’s voice.

The woman would not be changing her mind.

Kara had failed.

Jimmy noticed Kara wilt and made eye contact. “Ready to come down?”

Kara nodded, smile gone, and released her feet so they would be ready to touch back down to the ground.

No more flying for her.

“I need to go,” Lena said as she touched down. “Kara, may I speak with you privately by the elevator? I have a tangential question for you.”

Kara straightened slowly, ready for the head rush that always followed turning right side up again but trying to act normal through it. “Yeah. Of course. Sure.”

Had she read the signals wrong? Was there still hope for Acro classes?

Kara started to walk toward the door, prompting Lena to step forward. “Whoa. Need a second? You look a little drunk.”

“It’s just a head rush,” Alex answered for Kara. “Give her, like, ten seconds and she’ll be back to her blonde self.”

“Of course,” Lena said. “I’ll wait by the elevators.”

Then the brunette walked out the door, leaving Kara with her friends.

Maggie and Alex immediately moved in closer to Kara while Jimmy got to his feet.

“Tangential?” Kara said, looking at her sister on instinct. “What does that mean?”

“The word?” Jimmy asked.

Kara shook her head. “I know what the word means in a dictionary. But what does it mean when Lena Luthor says it?”

“No idea,” Alex said.

“Must be non-work,” Maggie guessed. “I don’t think Lena considers anything related to business as a tangent.”

“Good point,” Alex agreed.

“Do you think I still have a shot with the AcroYoga?” Kara asked.

“Definitely not,” Maggie said.

Alex nodded. “Agreed. That was a solid no.”

“Maybe she wants a massage?” Jimmy guessed, circling in with them.

They all shared a look at that.

“Makes sense,” Maggie said. “Maybe you’ll get some business out of this visit after all.”

Alex shooed her toward the door. “Go find out. You could use a high-roller client.”

Headrush largely gone, Kara made it to the door with little-to-no vertigo. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” they all whisper-yelled after her as she opened the door.

Walking out of the large office, Kara spotted Lena alone by the elevators, the woman’s eyes once again locked on her phone.

The woman was clearly an addict—not the kind of addict people went into rehab for, but in the workaholic way of the pathologically rich. Kara would bet anything this hot, young, successful CEO drank coffee like water and had the anxiety of a cat working as a quality inspector at a spring factory.

Lena Luthor had to be swimming in cortisol—probably with dopamine and adrenaline mixed in. That triple-threat cocktail more American than apple pie, and a fast track to dying of heart problems in your fifties.

And Lena Luthor didn’t deserve that.

The young CEO was kicking butt and taking names on behalf of women everywhere. She shouldn’t have to die young for it.

Kara’s chin came up. It was time to save a life … or, at least, save the quality and longevity of life for one kick-butt person. Silent cries for help like Lena's were why Kara went into yoga and massage in the first place.

No one was happy if their body wasn’t happy, and Kara hadn't planned on pointing it out during her sales pitch, but exhaustion was all but carved into the woman’s body.

And Kara knew what to do about that. She had magic hands. Everyone said so. It made total sense that the best hands in National City be on deck to keep one of the most powerful women in tip-top shape.

Kara took a breath, willing her mouth to say smart things as she beelined it to Lena.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered when she was halfway there. “Don’t let her go without an appointment.”

Lena glanced up as Kara approached, those blue eyes giving Kara an indecipherable once-over as her phone went back in the purse.

“Thanks for speaking with me privately,” she said, voice unreadable.

“Of course,” Kara said, mentally identifying her next available appointments. Something told her that Lena would be an after-hours kind of customer. Kara had been trying to move away from that, but for every rule, there was an exception. And Kara would definitely make an exception for Lena.

“Do you know why I want to talk to you?”

“Because you need a massage,” Kara said with confidence.

One intrigued brow popped up. “Not exactly.”

“It wasn’t a question,” Kara said, not sure where her bravado came from. “You need one. And you should hire me to give it to you. You won’t regret it. I’m very good.”

“Well, I’m afraid your skills are wasted on me. I don’t like being touched,” Lena said, no give in her voice. No exceptions.

She didn’t want Kara touching her? That didn't compute.

Kara’s head tilted in confusion. “Not even massages?”

“Especially massages,” Lena said, looking put off at the mere thought.

Huh. That was an interesting development. “So … just so I'm clear, your Acro aversion isn’t just a foot thing? It's the being touched by other people part you don't like?”

Lena shook her head. “Correct.”

That sucked. Physical contact was one of the best parts of life. “Well, I feel confident saying you only feel that way because you haven’t tried me. No one uses their hands quite like I do.”

Lena smiled at that. “It’s amazing how unaware you are of how you sound when you talk to people.”

“I, er, sorry?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I like it,” Lena said, eyes locking on Kara’s and seeming to search for something behind them. “I could never get away with it myself, and I always respect people who can get away with more than I can.” Her eyes searched Kara for a beat, as if looking for her answer in advance. “That being said, I want to make you an inadvisable offer.”

“I … uh, hmm. Okay.”

“Do you want to hear it?” Lena asked. “It might make you uncomfortable, so I'll give you the option to say no and take a pass on hearing it.”

“And if I say yes?”

Lena smiled and looked … jealous? Nervous?

Why couldn’t Kara place the look? She was so bad at reading people.

“You don’t sound very certain,” Lena said after a beat.

“I’m rarely certain when it comes to the unknown.”

Lena considered that, then nodded. “Touché. Very well. I’ll bite. This is my inadvisable offer." Steely blue eyes locked on Kara's watching her closely as Lena spoke again. "I think we might be good together. Sexually. I don’t date or do relationships, but I love sex, and would love to experience it with you. If you’re interested.”

The words felt like a semi truck passing six inches from her face at full speed, literally rocking Kara back on her heels as their meaning registered in her mind. “Wow. That’s very…”

“I find you captivating,” Lena said, pulling a business card out of her wallet. “And I would love to explore that with you. This is my number. I understand if you don’t call, but I’m really hoping you will. There will be no funny business our first meetup. I’ll invite you over for dinner and introduce you to what I’m thinking—talking only—and you can decide from there.”

Everything computed without computing, making the real-time conversation move at a pace Kara couldn’t keep up with.

Sex?

Lena asked to speak with her privately because … sex?

Talk about a curve ball.

How did that work without touching? Or did it?

Kara was confused. For a number of reasons.

Behind Lena, the elevator door opened and the woman stepped in, looking ready to leave without another word. But Kara definitely needed more words.

She slapped her hand against the elevator door, holding it open. “W-wait.”

Lena looked like the model of propriety, standing innocently in her respectable business suit. “Yes?”

“I … don’t know how to tell you this, but…”

As always, Lena remained unreadable. “Yes?”

“I … well, okay,” Kara stammered. “I mean, it’s just … I’ve never been with a girl before.”

Lena’s head tilted with what looked to be intrigue. “That’s not a problem for me if it’s not a problem for you.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Unless you’re not interested in girls. Then I totally missed the mark here, and I apologize for misreading signals.”

Oh, man. Alex was going to freak when she heard about this.

Lena must have gotten the two of them confused. Even though Alex was definitely in a relationship, she was the gay Danvers. Not Kara. “My sister is the one who is gay…”

“Yes,” Lena said, the model of dispassionate patience as Kara held the elevator doors open between them. “I’m aware. She’s also my employee, which is problematic. You are a contractor. You never have to see me again and have your contract for Tuesdays and Thursdays at L-Corp for as long as my employees cite you as a perk of our corporate culture. My offer is for our personal time only. If you’re interested.”

“I…”

Whoa. Kara had never lost the ability to speak quite so thoroughly before—her eyes dropping to assess the other woman in ways she never would have dared before. That skin. Those lips. The graceful slope of her neck. And, man, what Kara wouldn’t give for her own cleavage to look like that.

Lena had to look amazing naked. There really wasn’t a way around that possibility.

And the way the woman held eye contact … holy cow, the eye contact. _So_ much eye contact—all laced with a confident knowing of someone who could deliver on her promises.

“I … wouldn’t say I’m _not_ interested…” Kara finally managed.

“Okay. But are you _interested_?”

“I…”

Lena gently pushed Kara’s hand off the door before pointing toward the business card. “No pressure. Call me if you want to talk about it.”

“I…”

“Again, sorry if I’m misreading signals and being way too forward right now. But at least I’m getting out of your hair as my next move, right?” The CEO smiled. “I’m glad we met, Kara. Have a good night.”

Then the elevator doors closed, with suspiciously good timing, and she was gone.

“Holy cannoli,” Kara breathed, staring at the elevator doors where a gorgeous face had just been … a face Kara never in a million years would have thought could be interested in her. And yet, given how well Kara could remember the bow of the other woman’s lips and the sharp wit behind those brilliant eyes, she had to ask herself:

Was she interested?


	3. Prompts & Requests (No story)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got thoughts on:  
> Pairings?  
> Prompts?  
> Twitter vs. Tumblr?
> 
> Feel free to share.

This isn't a chapter, it's a hello and request.

I don't know about you, but I'm here because I don't want to be in my own head so much all the time. Maybe it's just me, but life feels like a universal stress test that 80% of people (including me) are failing right now. I need distraction, and that's what this site is to me. Playing different jams instead of yelling at internet idiocy. And while people are always yelling anonymously on the internet and someone is almost certainly going to find some reason to yell at me here, I just want to keep things on a voluntary fun basis. If a chapter/pairing isn't your thing, skip it. If it is your thing, read it. If you like it, I'd love to hear why (since I'm still learning and it's good to know what I'm getting right.) Simple.

The thing is, I'm not terribly inspired at the moment. So I'd love thoughts that make me want to write something, rather than reading.

If you have a favorite prompt or pairing, feel free to post it in the comments. I created a Twitter account with zero followers. Want to put me in the double digits? I'm TheSmuttyBard.

So those are my thoughts for today. Another chapter is coming soon. I have no idea what it is yet, but I'll aim for keeping the sexual chemistry warm and cozy, at a minimum.

Catch you around.


	4. Everybody Likes A Good Bloe (Beca/Chloe Canon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buried in her work, Beca almost misses a Bella wedding until Chloe gets her there. Awkwardness ensues.

_Damn, I’m gonna be rich,_ Becca thought, playing back her recent track.

It was good. Really good. 

Maybe her best yet.

It could maybe use a little—

Beca didn’t hear the squeak she was sure she let out when a pair of hands squeezed her shoulders, but she was out of her seat in a flash, pulling her headphones off as she turned—heart racing—to see her assailant.

Chloe.

Her friend’s eyes looked extra blue today, and it took a moment of looking from the girl’s eyes to the cute (short) blue dress she was wearing to realize some of the blue in the dress was reflecting up. Which was weird, since their wasn’t that much fabric in the cleavage area. Beca wasn’t sure which part of the dress was catching Chloe’s eyes, only that she needed to stop staring.

Beca kept her eyes up. “You scared me!”

“You really need to get one of those setups for deaf people,” Chloe said, mild chastisement in her voice. “You know? Where lights blink or something when someone’s at the door?”

“It’s fine,” Beca said, putting the headphones down. “No one comes over anyway.”

“I do.”

“Yeah, well, you have a key,” Beca replied before muttering, “a decision I continue to question.”

“Whatever,” Chloe said, looking quite pleased with herself. “You need supervision. If I don’t come drag you out, you start living here in nest of wrappers and coffee mugs.”

“It’s how I work.”

“Which is fine. But sometimes you need to not work. Like today.” Her eyes looked Beca up and down with disapproval. “You’re not even ready.”

“Should I be ready for something?”

“Uh, the wedding?”

“What wedding?”

“Esther’s wedding.”

“Esther?” Beca said, thinking back to about six weeks before when she’d gotten an invite that maybe had that name on it … along with some Skittles and an invitation to taste the rainbow. She’d thrown the envelope away immediately. She didn’t mess with open Skittles that had been through the mail. “Who’s Esther?”

“Lily.”

“Lily?”

“Yes,” Chloe said with a longsuffering eye roll. “Bella Lily? Percussion and beats? Don’t you remember she came out as Esther in France?”

“I thought that was a joke.”

“Not a joke.”

“She self-identifies as Esther now?” 

“She does. And it would be really nice if you could be supportive of that.”

“Sure. Why not?” Beca agreed. “But I have to ask. Did she make it legal? Otherwise this wedding we’re going to is really just a theme party requesting really expensive gifts.”

“Our presence is our gift,” Chloe said brightly, earning a narrow look from Beca.

“You didn’t get her a present, did you?”

“Today’s about showing our love to a friend. You can’t put a price tag on that.”

“Uh-huh. So what you’re saying is vet school cleaning you out?”

Chloe’s faltering grin said what her words would not. “It will all be worth it!”

“Still working with horses?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of becoming a doggy dentist.”

“That’s a thing?”

“I’m thinking of making it a thing,” Chloe said with optimism. “I mean, dogs are basically people’s kids these days. And who wants to take their kid to have dental work in the same place they might be euthenized?”

“Is that something people worry about?”

“It’s happened. Check the wrong box and…” Chloe let her eyes close as her head fell limply to the side.

“That is genuinely terrible.”

Chloe perked back up to full-bright. “But if I opened a doggy dental place, it would never happen. I wouldn’t even have the tools to make it happen. It wouldn’t be a thing. Not at my business.” 

“Well, if I ever get a dog, I will have all its dental work done at your office.”

Beca would not be getting a dog. But she didn’t mention that as Chloe beamed, clicking her heels together like Dorothy, but only once.

Chloe was always excited when a new idea hit her. Last week, the big plan was ranches for retired racehorses. The week before that, it was cat coffee shops, with cats that lived in the restaurant. 

Horrifying.

Beca still didn’t know how being a vet would play into that, but the passion had only lasted about six days so it became a non-issue.

If doggy dentistry ended up being a thing longer than a week, she’d ask more about it. Maybe.

Okay, she wouldn’t. Not until an actual business plan was happening. There wasn’t really any point until then. Chloe was like a child with a shiny balloon anytime she got a new idea, and questions were like pins. And Beca was kind of sick of being the person made Chloe’s bright smile fade whenever reality set in.

Let someone else do that.

Beca would just stick to checking in about once a week to see if Chloe had made her way back to pole dancing. Whenever Chloe lost faith in herself, she settled into thoughts of stripping. Only then, would Beca weigh in on her friend’s career path.

Not that she didn’t want to see Chloe strip. That would actually be quite … interesting. Once. And then Chloe should definitely quit. But Beca could definitely get on board with supporting her friend in a day of stripping if Chloe promised to retire the next day. 

Beca was imagining that day when she realized her friend was talking … and she sounded like she might have been talking for a while. 

She tuned in.

“—you would think that they would understand how important today is, and let her come. I mean, she’s an actual pilot surrounded by planes that are just sitting there. It would make sense—“

Beca tuned Chloe out again. Apparently Cynthia Rose would not be at the wedding. Bummer. Beca could use a reunion.

And maybe it wasn’t the worst time to take a break from her latest song. She could come back to it with fresh ears after going to the wedding and get a fresh take whether she really had a shot at topping the Billboards with this latest track.

All of a sudden, Chloe was looking at her like she was expecting an answer to a question Beca hadn’t heard.

Crap. She’d zoned out again.

“Are you even listening to me?” Chloe asked, bottom lip pouting out.

Beca hated it when Chloe pulled this face. It was so hard not to take a mental picture. “Of course.”

Eyes narrowing skeptically, Chloe folded her arms, the motion pushing her breasts in and together in the low-cut dress. 

Beca definitely didn’t look.

“Okay,” Chloe challenged. “What’s your answer?”

“Um, could you repeat the question?”

“I knew it. You weren’t listening.”

“No. I just had a Dory moment while thinking about what to wear.”

Chloe’s face brightened. “You were listening!”

Okay. Beca wasn’t sure how that happened, but she’d take the win.

She jerked her thumb toward her bedroom. “I need to get changed, but I don’t have a present either. Do you want to find one we can pick up on the way, and we’ll say it’s from both of us?”

Blue eyes shining, Chloe smiled. “I already know what we’re going to get her. Go change.”

Beca gave her a small salute and headed to her bedroom. Alone.

  
— ** —

 

  
The reception following the wedding looked like a concept set for a Skittles commercial that someone had designed while on psychedelics. 

Across the room, in the middle of the madness, the new couple stood on a raised pedestal, wearing pristine white as they greeted guests. They looked good.

“I’ve never heard a couple take vows on how they’ll handle apocalypse situations together,” Chloe said as Beca took in the room. “Kind of sweet.”

Beca looked at her like she was a crazy person. “Sweet? You think, ‘If I get bit, you get bit, and we zombie together’ is sweet?”

Chloe’s nose scrunched. “Ew. No. Zombies are so gross. If I get bit, shoot me in the head while I’m turning and save yourself. I don’t want to walk around decomposing in last year’s fashion.”

Beca smiled and looked back at the couple. “Only if you’ll do the same for me.”

“Deal!”

With that settled, Beca walked toward the line to meet the couple. Chloe stayed with her, which made waiting in the slow-moving line tolerable. All the Bellas would be meeting on the dance floor in thirty minutes, so it was still just the two of them for the moment. Beca was cool with that.

At the front of the line, they were met by the groom first.

“Bellas!” he greeted, clearly not knowing their names. And that was fine. Beca didn’t know his either. It might have something to do with sparrows or nuts, but Beca wouldn’t put money on it. “Thanks for making it to our party.”

Beca jerked her thumb Chloe’s way. “Thank her. I spaced it.”

He nodded knowingly. “THC does that to me, too.”

Beca opened her mouth to object before realizing his excuse sounded better than hers. So she shut her mouth and went with it as Lil—Esther’s new husband shook Chloe’s hand.

“Thanks for getting you both here.”

“Of course!” Chloe said. “This is the most memorable wedding we’ve ever been to.”

He nodded as if he expected as much. “And it’s just the beginning.”

Beca paused at the words.

What was that supposed to mean?

Luckily, she didn’t have to think about it too long because Lil—gah, Esther!—was looking at Beca now.

“Hey, you,” Esther said, reaching out for a hug while speaking in her full voice. It was like meeting a stranger who knew way too much about her. “So glad you two could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Beca said, careful not to get makeup on the dress as Esther crushed her with the hug.

“You’re going to love your present!” Chloe said happily out of Beca’s line of sight.

“I told you not to bring presents,” Esther said. “Your presence is my present.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “But Beca insisted.”  
  
Well, she might not have if Chloe had mentioned that Esther specifically requested no presents. Now it was just weird.

“Chloe picked it,” Beca said, not knowing how to respond the excited flare of Esther’s eyes at the news. “So, if you like it, thank Chloe.”

Esther smiled as serenely as the Virgin Mary. “You two always were good at delegating to each other’s strengths. I’m so glad you found each other.”

Whoa. Where had that come from?

“Okaaaaay,” Beca muttered, suddenly eager to get the line moving again. 

Next to her, Chloe gave a peppy bounce, accompanied by a “Thanks!”

So. Awkward.

“Well, happy wedding,” Beca said with the closest thing to a smile she could muster. “I’m glad you two found love.”

“Oh, we’re not in love,” Esther said pleasantly. When her husband shook his head in agreement, Chloe’s smile froze quizzically.

“No?” Beca asked.

Chloe looked like a confused puppy. “Why are you getting married, if you’re not in love?”

“To fulfill the prophecy,” Esther said, as smoothly as if she were telling the time.

“Oh,” Beca said, sliding her hand in Chloe’s to urge her to start walking. “That sounds like it’s going end well for all of us.”

“What prophecy?” Chloe asked.

Beca doubled her pace. “And we’re going.” 

Beca liked sleeping. She didn’t need Esther’s prophecy keeping her up at night. The best way to stop that from happening was to never hear it in the first place. If Chloe wanted to know it, she could ask when Beca wasn’t around.

Chloe took small, reluctant steps behind her. “You don’t want to know?”

“Nope. But if you want to talk about it, I’ll go find Fat Amy and hang with her.”

“No,” Chloe said, her strides starting to match Beca’s. “I mean … we can find her together.”

Beca pointed up at a trapeze hanging from the ceiling and heading towards it as Chloe paced her. “I’m guessing she’s not far away from that. She mentioned a new Fat Amy Jo Johnson routine.”

“The Power Ranger?” 

“Yep.”

“What would that have to with a trapeze?” Chloe asked.

“I have no idea, but I’ve learned to never count out a prop in the room when it comes to her.”

“Funny,” Chloe mused. “Bumper used to say the thing.”

Beca would definitely not be thinking any more about that. 

She pushed through the crowd instead, her feet stopping in place when she moved into an uncrowded pocket and saw one of the last faces she expected to see. And next to that face stood a pretty blonde with silky hair, an hourglass shape, and some seriously great … assets.

Beca spun on her heel, trying to push Chloe back the direction they’d come. But Chloe was facing her, so Beca ended up double-palming her friend’s breasts instead. She froze for a moment, both her and Chloe’s dropping down to the contact before Chloe sent her a curious look.

“A little early for that, isn’t it?”

“Sorry,” Beca said, hiding her blushing face as she jerked her hands away. “Jesse alert.”

Successfully distracted, Chloe’s eyes locked on Jesse’s location behind her. “Is that his girlfriend with him?”

“Fiancée now.” 

“They’re engaged?” she beamed.

“Since last month,” Beca whispered, trying to push her friend back into the crowd—not by her boobs this time. “Now help me disappear.”

“Why? You have to talk to him sometime.”

“Well, how about not today?”

“That might be hard,” Chloe replied.

“Why?” Beca asked.

“Because he’s standing right behind you.” Chloe’s eyes moved over Beca’s shoulder and she smiled brightly. “Hi, Jesse!”

“Hey, Chloe,” that still-familiar voice said. “Good to see you.”

“You, too!”

Beca did another turn on the heel of her shoe … this time much slower. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hey, Becs,” he replied.

He looked happy. Real happy. And recently laid. Beca didn’t look too hard for evidence on how recently, but she’d put money it having been minutes rather than hours. And based on his fiancée’s unruffled appearance, Beca was going to go with blow or hand job.

Well, good for them. Public sex was a great way to keep the fire in a relationship. Or so Beca heard. She’d never done it herself but applauded people who took the risk and got away with it.

“Good to see you,” she said, feeling how fake her smile looked but unable to stop it. Her face was her face.  
He laughed. “I see you haven’t changed.”

“Only my clothes.” It was a terrible joke. Terrible. But the fiancée laughed. That almost made it worse. The fiancée was laughing, Chloe was smirking, and Beca’s ex had just had his dick sucked at a Skittles-Apocalypse theme wedding ... just one of many reminders that she’d been a terrible girlfriend, and Jesse was definitely doing better without her.

This was why she lived in a nest of wrappers and coffee cups.

In that moment, Beca decided she’d done her fair share of participating in the world for the day. She’d definitely earned the right to return to her headphones and block it all out. 

Instead, she had to deal with an inevitable social introduction and Jesse wrapped his arm around the fiancée that almost certainly posted a lot of selfies on Instagram.

“Beca, this is Jenny,” Jesse said, gesturing between them.

Jesse and Jenny. Beca could already see their names in cheesy vinyl calligraphy on the door of some rambler out in the suburbs. Two peas in a pod.

“So great to meet you at last,” the blonde said, her smile way too big.

“Yeah,” Beca said, doing her best to match Jenny’s enthusiasm. “I wasn’t avoiding this day at all.”

Jenny laughed again. “Oh, c’mon. There’s nothing to be awkward about. Jesse’s told me all about you.” She looked over at Chloe. “And you must be the girl who always had Beca’s heart while she was trying to make ‘straight’ work.”

Chloe’s eyes grew wide and she turned to Beca. “I was?”

Beca panicked. “What? No—”

Chloe turned to her, looking genuinely hurt. “You never told me that,” 

Beca bit back a groan. “That’s because it’s a thing I’ve literally never said.”

“But it was always obvious,” Jesse said, Jenny nodding enthusiastically next to him as she looked Chloe over. “You liked hanging out with me, but your eyes were always searching for Chloe.”

“Seriously?” Chloe said, hand coming up to her heart. “How did I not notice that?”

_You were always looking at Aubrey. Or some guy._

“She always did it while you weren’t looking,” Jesse said, sending Beca a look. “I tried not to notice. But eventually, I had to stop being a beard and open myself up to real love, not safe love.”

Ouch.

Just … ouch.

“Now we both get the loves of our life and everyone wins,” Jesse finished. 

Jenny beamed up at him, eyes dreamy as he pressed a kiss to her lips. Meanwhile, Chloe eyed Beca like one of those people at an amusement park who tried to guess your weight.

This whole conversation had popped up out of nowhere like a sex scene while watching movie with her parents. Mortifying, with no real way to pretend it wasn’t happening. Beca needed to find a zombie to bite her so someone would agree to shoot her so she never had to relive this moment again.

Because she would. On a loop. Forever. Probably while staring at her ceiling in the middle of the night. And the worst part? It wasn’t even over. Beca had to look into the bright eyes that always made her feel like she was trying to keep her balance in a bouncy house and deal with the words coming out of Chloe’s mouth.

“I knew I felt something when we sang together in the shower.” 

No. Beca could not do this now. Or ever. Some things were best left in the cobwebs.

“Okay. That’s enough,” Beca panicked.

“You wouldn’t look at me at first …” Chloe said, looking like she was imaging the moment in vivid detail. “But then you couldn’t stop looking.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened,” she said, trying to deflect. But Chloe wasn’t listening. 

“Then there was the pillow fight—”

“Seriously. That’s enough—”

“And the time in the pool. You were so afraid to get out—”

“I was naked!” Beca objected.

Chloe wiggled her eyebrows. “I know.”

Beca’s face was red. She could feel it. Not because a single word anyone was saying was true, but because every word they were saying was mortifying. “Do we really need to talk about this now?”

Chloe tilted her head, not unlike a dog hearing a sound for the first time. “Is there a better time? We’ve got Jesse right here.”

Jesse chuckled, looking at Jenny again. “See what I mean?”

“Totally,” his fiancée laughed. “They are perfect for each other.”

Beca took a breath and searched for the bar. “I need a drink. Anyone else need a drink?” She started off. “I’m getting a drink.”

A hand caught hers and pulled her back. Chloe’s. “Want to dance? They’re playing our artist.”

Sia. The DJ was playing Sia’s _Alive_.

“This isn’t really isn’t a song you dance to.”

“We could change that,” Chloe said, her eyes outright daring Beca.

“Alcohol sounds more fun.” 

Across from them, Jesse nodded. “You know how her social anxiety is, Chloe. Get a few drinks in her, then she’ll dance with you all night.”

“You’re right,” Chloe said, slipping her hand into Beca’s. “Let’s go to the bar.”

Beca was wrong. This wasn’t like watching a sex scene with her parents. This was like walking in on her parents having sex and not being able to leave the room.

“No,” Beca said, eyeing the exit. Her wedding duties here were done, right? Technically speaking, she was good to go. Right?

Chloe stopped and looked at her, eyes all innocence. “You don’t want to get a few drinks and dance with me?”

Trick question. No safe answer. 

Once all the other girls joined them? Yes. Beca would be all in. But now? With Chloe looking at her like that?

Beca didn’t trust herself. Not with her heart already beating in her ears and her palms silently sweating like a rainforest.

“Uh-oh,” Jesse teased, sending a conspiratorial look at Chloe. “She’s eyeing the exit.” 

The soft hand in Beca’s held on a little tighter, and Beca dropped her eyes as her heart skipped a beat. 

“Whatever,” Chloe said. “She isn’t going anywhere until we see all the Bellas.”

“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Jesse said, angling away with Jenny tucked under his arm. “Good to see you two.”

“You, too!” Chloe chirped.

Beca stuck with a simple wave, not trusting herself to speak. Thanking Jesse for saying hi would be like thanking a car for driving through a mud puddle as it passed her on the street. Given a choice, she’d take a pass every time. But life didn’t often give you a choice in such matters. It was one of the dangers of leaving the safety of her house.

A moment later, the peas in a pod were gone—disappearing into the crowd.

Thank. God.

Beca took a deep breath, trying to get her mind back into the space it had been before she saw Jesse. Yet when she tried to lead Chloe toward the trapeze, the girl didn’t move, causing their hands to slip apart. When Beca looked back to see what was holding her friend up, she found Chloe staring at her.

“So. You’re in love with me?”

There really was a shortage of trap doors in the world. One would really come in handy at the moment. But not having one at her disposal, Beca did the best with what she had. Denial.

“What?” she scoffed. “No.”

“No? You don’t love me?”

“Well, I do,” Beca stammered. “You know that. I love all the Bellas.”

“Oh, so you don’t think I’m pretty,” Chloe decided.

“What? Of course. I don’t think that,” Beca said, feeling a little annoyed. “You’re gorgeous. Pretty much the hottest girl I know.”

“I am?”

“Yes." Wow. Was his room getting hot, or was it just her? "Can we go get a drink now?”

Chloe didn’t move. “So you think I’m pretty, but you’re not attracted to me.”

Another trick question. 

“It’s my stomach, isn’t it?” Chloe pouted. “I’ve been putting on weight—”

“Are you serious? Your body is amazing.”

A twinkle flared up in Chloe’s eye. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Yes,” Beca confessed in a huff. “I like it, okay? You have a great body.”

“But you’re not interested in me like that,” Chloe decided.

It was a deer in the headlights moment that ended when Beca took too long to answer. She marked the exact moment her hesitation gave her away when Chloe’s eyes widened victoriously.

“You are!”

“No,” Beca said, maybe a little too loud. “I mean, we’re friends. It’s not like that.”

“Do you want it to be like that?”

Where was the fire alarm? Beca needed to pull it immediately. Anything to get those guileless eyes to look anywhere else with their endless kindness.

Yet while dreaming of fire alarms, Beca once again waited too long to respond, giving Chloe a chance to move into that close-talking range that had thrown Beca off her center since Day One.

“I think about kissing you, you know?” Chloe confessed with an impish smile. “A lot, actually.” Her eyes got far away for a moment. “And in my imagination, it’s really good,” she added, before biting down on her lip.

Beca experienced full system failure as she stared at the lip between Chloe’s teeth.

She was staring. 

And she couldn’t stop. 

Seriously. She just kept staring … even after Chloe released her lip so she could smile again.

The girl always had something to smile about. It was one of things Beca loved—um, it was one of the things Beca really appreciated about her friend.

“Are you thinking about kissing me now?” Chloe asked, ignoring the gawking look from a guy passing by who had definitely overheard Chloe’s kissing fantasy confession.

Beca sent a middle finger his way as she breathed a sigh of relief that Chloe was finally asking a question she could answer honestly. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Chloe’s lips pursed skeptically. “So what are you thinking about?”

“How you always find reasons to smile,” Beca said, proud of the truth in her voice.

Bullet successfully dodged.

So why was Chloe moving in even closer?

_Eject! Eject!_

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I smile the most around you.”

Was someone choking Beca? Because her vision was seriously starting to dim around the edges and breathing was becoming a conscious effort.

Chloe liked being around her? Beca made her smile? The thought had Beca’s heart channeling Thelma and Louise, ready to plow off the cliff full speed to see if Chloe would catch her.

But this was not a movie. This was real life. And friends didn’t do that to friends who only had a history of dating guys.

Beca took a steadying breath. “I … smile the most around you, too.”

Chloe shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

The confident pushback surprised her. “I don’t?”

“No. You smile around Fat Amy. And Emily. But you always act serious around me.”

Okay, Beca couldn’t really argue that. She always had her guard up around Chloe. It was just too easy to slip up.

“Huh. You might be right,” she said, meeting Chloe’s eyes and noting that she was hiding a smile at that very moment.

Interesting. It was such a habit, she didn’t even realize she was doing it until she paid attention to it.

In the back of her mind, Beca was aware that they were standing in the middle of a high-traffic area, forcing people to walk around them on the way to the dance floor, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her mind cared about very little else whenever Chloe was this close.

“Half the time I walk in on you and Fat Amy together,” Chloe said, smile gone. “You’re rolling around in bed together. Laughing.”

“Am I laughing, or begging for mercy?” Beca deflected.

Chloe shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Either way, you’re staying in the bed. You may object a little for your dignity, but you obviously like it.”

Dammit. That was true. Beca felt very self-conscious about touching people. That didn’t mean she didn’t like it, it just meant she didn’t know how to initiate contact without making it weird. But Fat Amy took all the weirdness on herself and let Beca embrace the awkward.

There was something nice about that. Beca got contact without feeling like the freak.

That was definitely not the case with Chloe. 

“Beca?” her favorite voice said, and Beca felt something inside her breaking … something necessary to acting normal. She wasn’t sure what that was yet, but she had a feeling if she looked Chloe in the eye right now she would find out. “Can we try something?”

Beca looked around at all the people around them, pretending they were somehow relevant to the conversation. “What’s that?”

Then Chloe’s lips were on hers. Just a light press. Something like what a mom might press to her sleeping baby’s face when she didn’t want to wake it. One moment, it was there—endlessly soft—then it was gone and those perfect eyes were looking at her with a silent question.

Either all the air had just left the room or Beca had forgotten how to breathe. Probably the latter, but Beca wasn’t ruling out the former yet.

Across from her, Chloe’s eyes dropped down to her lips for a hungry beat before raising back up to meet Beca’s frozen stare.

“I really want to do that again,” she said, looking nervous and hopeful at the same time. “Do you?”

Beca’s lungs started working again in stages, gradually building up to a full breath that she didn’t know what to do with until she saw Chloe’s confidence wilt before her eyes.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” she said, taking a step back. “I pushed too hard, didn’t I?”

Another step. One more and Chloe would be out of reach.

Beca’s hand found Chloe’s on instinct, tangling their fingers together in a way that made it clear she wasn’t looking for distance as she searched for the words that wouldn’t totally screw everything up. And when she couldn’t think of any, she took a step forward, pushed up onto her toes, and kissed the hell out of her best friend.

The rest of the world could just walk around them if they had somewhere to be. Because, for the first time in her life, Beca didn't want to be anywhere else.


	5. What's Your Damage? (Raven/Anya AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya arrives for an appointment and finds the hot Latin girl at the front desk less than helpful.

**Raven/Anya**

 

Anya looked up from the card, eyes catching with the hot girl looking up from her seat.

“Welcome to L.B. Psychiatric, what’s your damage?”

Anya cleared her throat. “My damage?”

Dark eyes looked her up and down, overtly checking her out. “You’re here to see a shrink, aren’t you? So what’s your damage?” She gestured around the room, mostly chairs and reading materials, with a random toy train on the ground. “We kind of specialize here.”

“Uh, I have an appointment.”

“That doesn’t help me,” the brunette said, looking impatient.

Unsure if she was being punked or not, Anya looked around. “I’m sorry. Do you work here? Where’s your name tag?”

“Pshaw. Like I’d have one.”

“But you work here, right?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Please. You want our Bitchin’-‘Bout-Trump Special?”

Was she serious? “What’s that?”

“It’s where you split time with the therapist and both of you getting to talk about Trump. You only pay half-price, but you gotta listen to your therapist bitch a bit, too.”

“Wow,” Anya said, looking around for anyone else who might be an authority. “Sounds like quite an unhealthy program.” There was no else in the room but them. No one to appeal to with questions of concern, so she looked back at the girl. “And, seriously, do you really work here?”

The girl scoffed. “As if.”

“You don’t?”

“Please. Gross.”

“So what are you doing in the reception chair?”

“It’s the best chair here, and I’m daughter to the king,” she said, gesturing around the room. “I stand to inherit this shit show.” She narrowed her eyes and wagged her finger at Anya with authority. “And trust me. There are going to changes around here when I take over.”

“Like what?”

“First change? All hot girls need to be processed through me so I can fuck their bullshit right up.”

“Wow,” Anya breathed.

“Like you,” Raven said, stabbing an accusatory finger toward Anya. “Why the fuck are you here, hot chick? What brings you to the funny farm when you could be literally anywhere else getting your ass licked?”

“Uh, my dad died?”

Raven stared at her “So, your father died, and your pretty face needs pills for that? Is that what you're doing here?” She rolled her eyes. “Stop wasting my time and go get your ass licked somewhere. Save the therapists for people with real problems.”

“I … think I’m going to go now.”

“Good choice, Rim Job. Why don’t you just wander over to a coffee shop and try to stop strangers from buying your free cups—“

Anya’s lips twitched up. She couldn’t help it.

That’s how she and Raven met. Anya had been at a coffee house looking over a script when Raven had walked up with a coffee for each of them like it was planned and offered to run lines.

Four months later, here they were—improving together like the out-of-work actors they were.

“You broke!” Raven said, dancing out of her chair, then dancing with it. “Don't think I didn't that smile. Fifty-three seconds, bitch. New record!”

Anya proved her right by laughing. “Stop strangers from buying me free cups? That’s only happened once.”

“So says you,” Raven said with a skeptical look. “I didn’t think that would trip you. I was banking on the Trump discount.”

“That might have gotten me if I hadn’t actually been considering it. That’s not a bad deal.”

Raven laughed harder and Anya looked down at the card that had started it all. It read:

_Ever since your father passed, you’ve been seeing and talking to his ghost. You think you might be crazy, but when you seek professional help, you find the staff less than helpful._

“Yeah, we crushed it!” Raven said, high-fiving herself like a muppet.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“And your hate-face turns me on,” Raven said, moving in to within an of Anya’s face, her smokey eyes staring at Anya’s lips. “Get over it.”

God, Anya wanted to kiss her right then, but that would only be rewarding bad behavior. And as fun as Raven made that, Anya was trying to hold high ground this time. Because it wasn’t a “hate face” Raven saw on Anya when she dorked out. She was looking at Anya’s “hot-for-geek” face.

Apparently, hot chicks with the coordination of muppets really did it for her.

Mortifying.

If Anya kissed Raven now, her lips would be hungry. Raven would sense that she’d just done something that worked, and she’d suss it out. Then she’d have one more kink to tease Anya with. And Raven already had way too much to work within that department, with Anya trailing at a distant second.

Anya needed way more dirt on Raven before she flashed her geek card. It had taken Anya years to tuck her away and step into her cool, Hollywood persona. She didn’t need a flirty girlfriend resurrecting every embarrassing thing she’d burned the evidence of back home.

She. Did. Not.

Looking away, Anya pretended to be more interested in the game than the lips so close to her. “This game is more fun than I thought.”

“Totally,” Raven said, reaching for the next card. “It’s my turn to pull a scenario.” She held it in front of her and read it aloud. “You are a mechanic in a remote area who always gets unusual requests. But one day a customer comes in with the strangest request of all.”

When Raven turned to her with a wicked smile, Anya knew what she had to do next.

It was Raven’s turn to break. And the girl was going to go down. Hard.


End file.
